


Thunder

by nerdylittledude



Series: Ugly Sweater !Verse [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 17:46:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdylittledude/pseuds/nerdylittledude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has never had sex before, but he firmly believes that no one in the world has ever felt like this. There's something powerful between them, an incredible force, forged in the very deepest depths of hell. Each time Castiel rocks back and forth, pushes his body in and out, it's like that bond is renewed again and again. It's bliss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunder

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last scene of April Showers and a Little Sunshine from Castiel's point of view, but can be read as a stand alone (I think). As always, unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

Castiel isn't an angel anymore, so he cannot determine Dean's exact body temperature just by looking at him. If he had to guess, though, judging by the way Dean's flesh trembles and seems to burn beneath his fingers, he'd place it at least 100 degrees. Castiel thinks he might be running at that temperature, too, thinks he might be quietly igniting and he loves it. He decides, here and now, that humanity is infinitely better than anything else. Dean shaking and shivering and breathing unevenly, all because of Castiel's touch – that's worth even losing his wings for.

 

More than worth it.

 

Castiel is in tune with Dean on every level; this is something that has not changed since he fell. He is acutely aware of Dean's breathing, the way he's trying to behave himself and steady it. He wonders if Dean believes that he's succeeding in hiding it from him. Castiel shifts a little on his knees and presses hard against a particularly taut muscle, and Dean makes an almost inaudible gasp. Castiel furrows his brow. He is learning that the sounds the human body makes for pain and pleasure are unsettlingly similar.

 

“You're quite tense,” Castiel says, a note of concern in his voice. “Am I doing this wrong? Should I stop?” He's not sure what to make of how Dean seems to be frozen all over – he knows that he's meant to be loosening Dean up.

 

“ _No_ ,” is Dean's sharp, jarring response. Castiel pauses, taken aback. It seems his suppositions were incorrect. He wonders, though, why Dean sounds so angry if he is truly enjoying himself. Still, Castiel chooses not to question it and obediently carries on.

 

Time goes on, and Castiel has trouble focusing on what he's doing. This human body of his is sending him all sorts of messages, each of them like liquid fire. It tells him that this slow touching is not enough. His body wants _more_ , and a part of Castiel is certain that it will get its wish tonight. He has resolved not to stop until Dean is relaxed, though. He wants these tense, taut muscles to be soft against his hands. Eventually, Dean's back seems to bear no further stress. Pleased, Castiel presses a kiss to the skin he just worked into something malleable.

 

Dean's entire body seems to come alive at this, though he barely moves. It's something that Castiel simply _knows_ ; as Dean's angel, it is his job to know. Emboldened by this powerful reaction, Castiel gives more kisses, tracing Dean's spine with his lips. Dean's hands twitch and Castiel's body commands _more!_

 

It seems right to add teeth to the equation, and Castiel praises this human body for knowing that it was – Dean reacts instantly, supplies the _more_ Castiel has been wanting. He rolls over, tugs Castiel down atop him, pressing their bodies together. They are both on fire, and now that they are one, they are a roaring _flame_.

 

“Dean,” Castiel gasps. His voice sounds odd, inexplicably hoarse, but it flips a switch in Dean that sets him into action.

 

Dean's mouth is wet and warm and urgent as he swiftly probes the inside of Castiel's mouth with his tongue. This is an strange sensation, made even more so by the absence of alcohol, but it is a _good_ one and Castiel's heart begins to pound with the force of a rushing train. There is a short moment when Castiel's mouth tries to figure out how to reciprocate this kind of kiss, but the instincts he has become so grateful for kick in and soon his tongue trades places with Dean's, licking into his lover's mouth insistently. If the quiet noises Dean is making are any indication, Castiel is performing well.

 

It strikes Castiel that tonight, one of his greatest wishes will be coming true. One way or another, he will be _one_ with the man he loves more than life itself.

 

Castiel's body tells him to _touch_ and he complies, mapping out his lover's body with his fingertips. Dean's chest is already a tiny bit wet with sweat, as though the fire within him is quickly taking over. Castiel's fingertips are replaced by fingernails, quickly scratching over Dean's skin and leaving red marks so pretty that Castiel is caught off guard. Again, the fine line between pain and pleasure surprises him, but he likes the way Dean's skin looks, the sensation of his nails dragging into flesh. The contact of nails to skin seems to create invisible sparks where they touch. Castiel has thought and thought about this, about being this close to Dean... but his thoughts never came close to this, the real thing.

 

Dean tries to peel off Castiel's shirt and Castiel readily assists, just as eager as Dean to be closer still. Skin to skin leaves Castiel short of breath for a moment; he is ready for this, for all of this, _so_ ready to be within Dean or have him within himself – anything to be closer. Their mouths collide, hot and heavy, and every inch, every pore of Castiel's flesh seems to scream with pleasure and that same desire for _more_. They bite at each other's lips, suck on tongues, explore each other's mouths fervently, with purpose. Each time they break to breathe, their lips hover close enough to exchange each other's air. Castiel cannot even recall what breathing feels like in the absence of Dean's breath. He thinks perhaps that oxygen is artificial air, and all that is truly real is the wind from Dean's lungs.

 

Right now, Castiel's body feels exactly as his heart always has – entirely, completely connected to Dean's. The rest of the world is ephemeral, unimportant; Dean, his flesh and his searing eyes, panting breath and burning heart – these are what matter. And, at this moment, they are all that _exist_. The light from the candles Castiel has grown to love so much only add to this, casting a subdued and quiet light that makes Dean look almost holy. It’s an adequate representation of how Castiel feels about Dean.

 

There is a powerful warmth between Castiel’s legs that is at once both familiar and impossibly foreign. Since he fell, he’s had everything a human has, including a sexual appetite. He knows the feeling of hard-on, has come to associate it entirely of Dean and all the things he’s wanted to do with him, to him. This, though, is much different. Much _more_. This is a heat with an answering heat. Every time their hips collide, Castiel has to close his eyes because he can now physically feel it all being reciprocated. Dean’s body, the stiffness between Dean’s legs, everything is reassuring Castiel that Dean wants him, wants all of him. Wants this. Their hips clash again and again, upward movements from Dean mirroring downward movements from Castiel. Castiel is not used to having no control over his vocal cords, but he doesn’t mind the array of gasps and whimpers dripping from his mouth.

 

Dean gives strange new kisses, ones with teeth and suction that leave bright bruises flowering on Castiel’s neck. Castiel loves them. They make his toes curl and his eyes clamp shut, steal his breath away. He knows that tomorrow, in morning light, these bruises will be there, all bright and fierce. The thought makes him shiver. Traces of Dean will be with him all over his flesh, for anyone to see. Everyone will know that he belongs to Dean. His mouth urges him to lean forward, to whisper ‘ _I am yours, I am yours, I am yours. All that I am belongs to you’_ , but he refrains. Instead, he covers Dean’s mouth with his in a wet and messy open-mouthed kiss laced with shudders and underlying near-moans. Dean quakes below him. They share a sort of fervor, a quiet desperation that has them all hands, everywhere, as though memorizing the plains of each other’s skin.

 

Dean’s mouth is on Castiel’s neck, then his collar bones – this proves to be a sensitive spot that makes a whole new surge of heat blossom between Cas’ legs. He is trying hard to steady his breath when a loud burst of thunder crackles outside, filling the room with its roar. Rain follows shortly after, and Castiel is immediately irritated with the interruptions. This moment is his and Dean’s alone; the elements have no right to intrude. Another wave of thunder makes Castiel’s pulse pound, though, as though it somehow managed to charge his flow of blood. Lightning silhouettes his features when he looks down at Dean again. Dean visibly gulps, and Castiel is fairly certain that the gaze he’s giving Dean might finally be conveying all the contained wildfire lingering just below the surface.

 

Castiel’s movements are on autopilot. It feels right to move his kisses elsewhere and he does so; Dean’s rapid reactions, his staggered breathing and twitching body affirm that this is true. Dean’s chest, his stomach, his bellybutton – all are uncharted territory. This new expanse of Dean’s body to explore is excited, sends jolts downward to pool below Castiel’s stomach like an electric storm. When Castiel licks into Dean’s bellybutton, the instantaneous response is rewarding, invigorating. Dean throws his head back against the pillows, vocalizes his pleasure and _want_ with a series of undignified whimpers. Castiel notes that the farther down he directs his attention, the more wild and uncontained Dean’s reactions, which makes sense.

 

“Cas – _please_ –“ Dean chokes out in a hoarse and broken voice. Castiel doesn’t waver. He thinks he knows what Dean wants, can feel it in his gut, but he is enjoying the way Dean is writhing and is not willing to move any lower just yet. He is savoring every moment, every second. Dean is beautiful when he is undone, and Castiel is content to watch him fall apart beneath his own mouth and tongue.

 

“Just _do it_ ,” his lover begs, and Castiel surprises himself with the low chuckle that escapes his own lips. He’s vaguely aware there’s something dark and dirty about this laugh, something that gives everything a new edge. Dean’s hips twitch and he’s slowly unraveling beneath the careful nips and bites Castiel is giving the skin above the hem of his slacks. Dean seems to have lost all control of his vocal cords. The desperate whimpers and nonsense pleas that stream from Dean’s mouth are like a symphony that Castiel is not yet willing to turn off.

 

“God, Cas,” Dean spits the words like he’s angry, but Castiel knows better. “Cas – Cas, fuck.” Castiel isn’t sure why Dean’s profanity and growing desperation makes him smirk, but he makes sure his lips are close to Dean’s skin when he does. He wants Dean to _feel_ it. Castiel can feel his own nipples hardening, feels how tingly and sensitive they are, and it occurs to him that this is another place on Dean that needs his attention. He trails kisses upwards and nips and sucks at Dean’s nipples. Dean’s hands find their way to Castiel’s hair and he tugs again and again, a desperate gesture that makes Castiel gasp and shake all over. He finds that he really, really loves having his hair pulled. He wants to tell Dean that he can tug harder, that it feels _good_ and it will feel better with more force, but his words are lost in all the gasps whimpers he keeps forgetting that he’s making against Dean’s flesh.

 

“You fucking cocktease,” Dean says, voice coming out like a growl. Castiel stops short – what does that mean? He doesn’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing; he has never heard this expression before.

 

“What?” Castiel asks unsurely, moving his lips from the Dean’s stiff nipples, now wet from Castiel’s mouth. Dean groans like the question is mind-boggling.

“It means I might actually explode if you don't suck me off or fuck me _now_ ,” is Dean’s fervent answer, and he flexes his hips just the smallest bit to reiterate his point. Understanding dawns on Castiel; Dean wants the same _more_ that Castiel does… but Castiel is not ready to give it. Not yet. He has work yet to do.

 

“Oh,” he responds before abruptly returning his tongue to Dean’s nipples. The contact rips a shaky moan from Dean’s throat, and Castiel shivers all over. He likes the quiet noises Dean has been making, but he especially likes _this_ sound. He hopes he can hear more of it.

 

“You're going to kill me,” Dean gasps, voice urgent like he’s pleading with a serial killer. It sounds so honest that Castiel is momentarily concerned, but his thoughts are frazzled when Dean slides a hand across his back, rests it on the small of his back before scratching hard in every direction. Castiel moans, muted but still sounding loud in the quiet room. Castiel is surprised at how his mouth no longer needs permission for the sounds it makes. Dean’s breathing is erratic and Castiel finds it dizzying, intoxicating.

 

He’s still mildly concerned about Dean’s sentiment, though, and makes sure to comfort him. “Cases of death due to sex between two consenting parties are rare, Dean,” he assures him, replacing tongue for a quick close-mouthed kiss to Dean’s chest in an effort to be reassuring.

 

“Oh God – Word to the wise, Cas? Do not take anything I say during sex literally.”

 

This is a confusing concept, and it makes Castiel pause again and look up at Dean with curious eyes. He tilts his head, a question on his mouth, but Dean corrects himself quickly.

 

“No – fuck, ignore that. Not _anything_. Like if I tell you how friggin hot you are – or, y'know _fuck me,_ you should take that very literally.”

 

“I see.” This takes a second to decompress – how exactly is Castiel supposed to know when Dean is being literal or figurative? He supposes it’s something that he will learn with time. Dean does not like this pause, though; he introduces a form of pressure into the equation that is entirely, utterly new. Dean slips his thigh between Castiel’s leg and thrusts upward with his hips hard, creating an intense friction that overwhelms Castiel for a moment. His eyes cement shut and his breath goes on a roller coaster ride, short and fast and hard, interrupted by unholy whimpers and other sounds he was not aware he knew how to make.

 

Dean makes use of Castiel’s momentary distraction and grabs hold of his jaw, yanks him upward so that he can kiss him over and over. The clash of lips and tongues and teeth feels somehow heightened with this new friction. Now there’s heat _everywhere_.

 

Dean grips Cas’ face with his hands when they break to breathe. “How long have you wanted this?” he asks suddenly, as though the answer is quite imperative.

 

“Since before I fell,” Castiel responds without hesitating, “I think that I have always been yours, Dean. Since the moment I branded your soul with my hand, I was yours.” To add to this point, Castiel places his hand to Dean’s handprint scar. Of course, the two click together like a puzzle piece. Something, some feeling dances in Dean’s eyes and Castiel is fairly certain that it’s love.

 

“Didn't know angels could want this,” Dean says, and there is a note of genuine surprise beneath the dark lust that overlays the words. He thrusts upward with his hips and Cas gasps and gasps again and again, a drowning man scrambling for air. He likes this drowning, though, likes the ache building up in him. He could drown and drown forever with Dean.

 

“The want felt different then,” Castiel explains, “Restrained. With my humanity has come a new-” Castiel’s sentence stops in his tracks because Dean’s hand has found its way to his crotch and is applying pressure. Castiel is rendered speechless, eyes wide and throat only capable of nonsense sounds and shallow breathing. Dean brings his lips to Castiel’s ear, and his uneven breathing mirrors Castiel’s own. The feel of it against his ear makes Castiel feel wild inside and that agonizing cry for _more_ that he body has been sending out culminates into a vicious wave of want.

 

“Show me how human you are. _Fuck me_.”

 

Castiel’s heart thrashes in his chest and his lungs seem to be confused, but he realizes he’s met an unfortunate standstill. He has no idea how to proceed, no idea how to give Dean what he wants. All of the sudden he feels inadequate. Dean could be with a legion of practiced lovers, yet he is stuck with Castiel, in all his naivety and inexperience.

 

“Dean, I want to,” he pants, and his sentence quavers sharply because Dean punctuates it with an upward thrust. Castiel tries again. “But – Dean ... _how?_ ” he finally manages. His voice sounds small.

 

“I'll teach you,” Dean says without missing a beat, seemingly lacking all of Castiel’s misgivings. “But you might wanna get us out of our pants.”

 

The idea of more of Dean’s flesh exposed is enough to shake the shyness from Castiel and he quickly sets to work stripping them both as quickly as possible. He’s proud of his efficiency, though the thought barely has time to register before the friction from earlier is restored, but this time it is without any clothing barring flesh from flesh. Castiel moans again, though it lacks the muted quality from before; this is much louder, much more shameless. It trails off with a hiss that Dean swallows up with his mouth.

 

“Fingers inside me, man,” Dean instructs, “you gotta, uh...” Castiel thinks he understands and complies quickly; he’s eager to move forward, to explore every inch of Dean with every inch of himself. If Dean wants Castiel’s fingers within him, Castiel isn’t going to waste a moment in giving it to him. Castiel inserts a finger, then two, eager for Dean’s reaction…

 

… but it’s all wrong. Castiel has learned that pain and pleasure sound similar, that a body seizing up all over can be either good or bad. It is confusing, sometimes, but in this instance he needs no clarification. Dean is in pain. His teeth are gritted and he’s shaking his head like he wants to talk but can’t. Castiel pulls his fingers out as soon as it registers that Dean’s sharp breaths are an indication that something is very _wrong_ , not the opposite. He pulls back to rest on his elbows so he can look at Dean.

 

“Dean?”

 

Dean seems to be steadying himself, recovering from whatever Castiel did wrong that’s made him hurt so badly. Castiel feels a gnawing guilt bubbling to the surface. He does not know what he did to cause Dean pain, but the weight of knowing that _he_ caused it is nearly enough to sober his thoughts completely. He wants to kiss Dean again and again, apologize for whatever fatal error has caused Dean to feel anything but pleasure during this.

 

To Castiel’s surprise, Dean chuckles and gives Castiel a genuine smile once he’s collected himself.

 

“If you're sticking anything inside me, it's gotta be wet,” he explains, gesturing to the bottle of menthol oil Castiel had been using before. He gives Castiel a look that is at once sympathetic and pained, like he wants to roll his eyes but is refraining for Castiel’s sake. Basic physics quickly comes to mind to back Dean’s explanation and Castiel briefly considers hitting himself on the head for not thinking of it.

 

“Dean,” he breathes, peering down at Dean’s flushed features and lust-blown pupils. Castiel’s concern and overwhelming desire are conflicted. His shame outweighs them both, though. “I’m so-

 

Dean quickly shakes his head, cutting Castiel’s sentence off with a soft, “Shh” that effectively soothes him. “Cas, shh. My fault.” Their eyes meet and there’s another invisible spark of electricity and everything seems to get back on track. It’s as though all they needed was to link eyes and _see_ the intense need there to plow forward and move past this awkward moment. Dean still wants him; Castiel can see it in the heat of his gaze. The eye contact seems to have inspired a whole lot of _something_ in Dean, who grabs Castiel’s jaw and kisses him harshly, panting against his lips.

 

“Cas – need you, Cas, please -” Dean whimpers, looking at the menthol oil pointedly. Castiel’s hands tremble as he grabs for it, nearly drops it (though, thankfully, Dean does not notice), and cautiously opens the top. He covers his hands with it – and, after a quick second’s contemplation, realizes that they’re not the only thing needs to be wet. His heart pulses ever faster as he thinks of it, as it dawns on him as he applies more oil that he’s going to be _one_ with Dean for the first time since the pit.

 

He hesitates the briefest moment before pressing fingers in again, though, afraid of a repeat of Dean's initial pain – but this reaction is completely different than before. Dean's response is instant and intense; Dean's back arches in a way that makes Castiel dizzy and Dean gasps short and sharp and _euphoric_. The fire in Castiel's bloodstream kicks into overdrive. He's drunk off of Dean, incoherent with _want_ , a pressing need for more.

 

“Sc – scissor -” Dean rasps, and again Castiel curses his inexperience. He has no idea what Dean is asking for, and the exasperated groan Dean gives out indicates that he's just as frustrated and eager to get this show on the road, so to speak, as Dean is. Castiel hopes the look he gives Dean is enough to tell him that he needs to _explain_.

 

“Fuck, uh – open me up, dude, you're about to stick something really big somewhere really tight.” Castiel nods; this makes sense. He adds a finger, then another, forming 'scissors', as Dean put it. He opens Dean up as instructed, savoring the trail of filthy noises that are streaming from Dean's mouth. Then... then _something_ happens, something that causes Dean to go still all over, whole body tense and rippling with what appears to be pleasure. Castiel hit something – some spot, some aspect of Dean's anatomy that seems to have sent a rush of ecstasy through his nervous system. Castiel surges with pride.

 

Dean presses down against Castiel's fingers something close to desperately, voice all heat and fire. “Fuck – fuck, okay, I'm ready. Like _now._ Shit,” he babbles, followed by cries of, “Fuck, Cas” and “Jesus _Christ_ ” and other nonsense as Castiel strikes that spot again and again. Dean buries his face in Castiel's neck and leaves kisses everywhere, mouth eagerly coating skin. Castiel's breath is becoming increasingly erratic as he struggles to keep his head in light of how Dean's coming apart. 

 

Castiel ignores Dean's request at first, instead taking a moment to absorb Dean's intense reactions, the way his mouth seems to even forget how to kiss as he breathes with an open mouth against Castiel's skin. It occurs to Castiel that there is even _more_ to come – and it also strikes him that he is yet again unsure how to proceed. This time, though, he has a fairly good idea.

 

“Now what?” he asks, trying not to be embarrassed at his lack of certainty.

 

“Now you shove yourself inside me and _move_ , Christ.”

 

“I thought so.” With one last stroke to that _spot_ , which renders Dean gasping yet again, Castiel withdraws his fingers. Dean sucks in air like a man drowning and Castiel positions himself, takes a steadying breath and pushes in.

 

For a moment, Castiel's mind is shocked completely blank. All that is conscious are his senses, each nerve cell bursting like supernovas beneath his flesh. The white hot heat that is _Dean_ encasing Castiel, surrounding him, is all-encompassing. As the wheels in Castiel's head start to churn again, the first thought he thinks is _this was worth falling for._ It's not about the pure, carnal pleasure of sex, though that is certainly something to be spoken of. It's about _Dean_ , about this blinding perfection of being one with him. If Castiel ever forgot for a moment that he burned a mark on Dean's soul, he is reminded in an instant. With their bodies linked like this, Castiel doesn't need his Grace to feel the full strength of this connection.

 

Oh, Castiel is very much in love.

 

Dean is writhing beneath him, making noises and saying things Castiel is almost sure the other man isn't conscious of. It's mostly sentence fragments that make little sense and a recurring whisper of “ _Cas, Cas, Cas_ ” that nearly knocks the breath from Castiel. Castiel's body is on autopilot now; he doesn't need to think to know to rock his hips, doesn't need to focus on maintaining a steady rhythm because his body knows what to do. It is something Castiel appreciates very much about humanity. Dean's legs wrap around Castiel's waist, shifting their angle slightly and make it that much more intense. Beads of sweat collect on Castiel's forehead and all over his body. All that his brain is registering is shock after shock of sheer bliss with each roll of his hips.

 

Dean's fists claw wildly at the sheets and then bury deep in them. Castiel slips his hands over Dean's and squeezes tight before lacing their fingers together. He watches Dean intensely, looks at his face as he thrusts inside him, memorizing every single wave of emotion that pulse through it. Dean's eyes are mostly closed, but he opens them often and sees Castiel looking at him. Their eyes lock again and again. Castiel can't look away. Dean seems overwhelmed every time, like this kind of connection runs so deep it's overpowering.

 

And really, it _is_. Castiel has never had sex before, but he firmly believes that no one in the world has ever felt like this. There's something powerful between them, an incredible force, forged in the very deepest depths of hell. Each time Castiel rocks back and forth, pushes his body in and out, it's like that bond is renewed again and again. It's bliss.

 

Castiel's body is shaking all over and his mouth is uttering sounds he never made the choice to make. Humanity is strange in this way. As an angel, Castiel was aware of every minute intricacy of his existence. He was conscious of every pulse of his vessel's heart and every tremble of his vocal cords. Now, though, he's hardly conscious of the whimpers and tiny moans his throat is coming up with. He's only vaguely aware that he's been saying Dean's name under his breath almost constantly, whispering it like a prayer every time he catches his breath.

 

All these feelings, physical and emotion and deeply, deeply spiritual, are too much. Dean has to _know_ , has to understand what all this means. All Castiel can think to do is to lean forward and bring his lips to Dean's ear, and all he can think to say is “ _I love you_.” His voice is wrecked and broken and gravelly but it seems to resonate all throughout Dean.

 

Dean quickly, quickly buries his face deep in Castiel's neck and moans Castiel's name as his whole body shakes and releases. Warm liquid fills the space between them and in a brief second Castiel wonders at how a bodily fluid can be so _symbolic_. Dean's body goes limp beneath him and his eyes, dark green in the candlelight, are so fond and so overflowing with love when he looks up at Castiel that he simply cannot bear it any longer. Castiel's body quakes and his movements become erratic before he seizes up, gasps like he's been punched and comes as well.

 

They are a limp heap of sweat and breathlessness as they both breathe hard but quietly, collecting themselves. Their chests are pressed together and Castiel's head lays tucked under Dean's chin. They're quiet an unknowable amount of time before Castiel props himself up on his elbow to look at Dean.

 

“Happy Easter,” is the first thing that comes to mind to say – and really, it _is_. Dean laughs.

 

“You're really something, Cas,” he says, and his voice is soft and fond and makes Castiel warm all over. Castiel smiles big and wide and a little goofy, surprising himself. His face doesn't do this very often. Dean wraps an arm around Castiel's waist and pulls him down and positions him so that they're laying on their sides and Castiel's back is pressed to his chest. Castiel has learned from Dean that this is called 'spooning'.

 

“I'm glad I'm human,” Castiel says with a yawn after many minutes in contented silence. He feels Dean press a kiss to the back of his head.

 

“Me too, Cas,” Dean says back, sounding equally sleepy but incredibly honest nonetheless, “Happy Easter.”

 

One of Castiel's favorite things is falling asleep next to Dean. He can feel the other man's heart beating gently and the soft rhythm of his breathing against his neck. It reminds him of flying, back when he had wings. It's decidedly better than flying, and Castiel is grateful that he has Dean as his wings now, instead.

 

Castiel falls asleep smiling.

 

 

 


End file.
